


what you do to me

by manticoremoons



Category: K-pop, Mamamoo, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks, Semi-Public Sex, This is a repost, end of year gayos 2017, now that i've gotten over my complex about it, yes i know the timing doesn't make sense just accept this pocket universe pls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 05:30:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17339456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manticoremoons/pseuds/manticoremoons
Summary: in which namjoon pines after a girl in cherry red heels.





	what you do to me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a very fervent Mamamoo enthusiast, and not really as knowledgeable about the BTS boys -- but they're cool dudes. So I decided to write this because Hwasa's my bias and RM is amazing.
> 
> I deleted this once for reasons. But posting it up again because why not?

 

 

  
**I.**

Namjoon isn't the type of guy who pines. Especially not for a girl. Where would he find the time for it anyway? In the space of three years, he's gone from sleepless nights in the dorm, wondering anxiously if they'd ever make it to performing at the American Music Awards. The road to here and now hasn't been easy or straightforward either. He'd had to fight tooth and nail for every single thing he'd gotten; they  _all_ had. It was hard to fathom that in nearly every corner of the world, someone knew their names, or had heard their songs.

So it's absurd that he's standing here, hands stuffed into his tux pants, exhausted from the big performance they put on earlier in the show, just watching her. And trying not to look like he's doing it. He knows very well there are fancams all over the place, it would be unwise to make himself obvious.

So he laughs at one of Seokjin's jokes, tilts his head back to yodel like an idiot because Taehyung did it while waving his arms around at the Blackpink song blaring out the speakers, bows to other musicians as they amble passed him, and generally pretends like he's paying attention to the world around him.

He's not. Unless the world can be contracted to the point where it comprises one single person.

She's giggling with Wheein. The two of them are as thick as thieves, talking a mile a minute and it's very obvious to anyone watching that they're the best of friends. Her face is all lit up like a sky full of stars—and no, it's not just because the lights in the venue are bright as hell. For someone as tiny as she is, she's the kind of person who pulls the energy in a room towards her and fills the space with sheer force to the point where it's impossible to ignore her.

And he wouldn't want to. Sure, maybe it would be easier but he knows he's a lost cause by now.

"You know, it'd be less obvious if you blinked every twenty or so seconds."

Reluctantly, Namjoon looks away to face his best friend and says with little heat, "Shut up, Yoongi."

"I'm just saying. Your stalking would be less transparent if you tried to act a little normal."

"I'm not stalking her," Namjoon's quick to deny. By the look on Yoongi's face, he doesn't believe him even a little bit.

"You've kept an exact distance of eight feet between the two of you on this entire walkabout, and even when you try to be slick about it, your face makes  _that_ expression whenever you catch sight of her."

"What expression?"

"The one where it looks like you're somewhere between crying, wetting your pants and popping a giant boner."

" _Ugh_ , why are you like this?" Namjoon can't help asking, slapping a hand across his eyes—half out of exasperation and half out of embarrassment. He had no idea he'd been that obvious.

"What? Observant?"

Namjoon would respond but the words freeze in his throat as he sees her bend down to fix the strap on her heels. Cherry red contraptions with ankle straps that make her already shapely legs look, frankly, magical. He tries not to leer (like every man, and some women, in the vicinity— _it's Hwasa, anything with a pulse is leering_ ) but it's next to impossible.

 _Ah, fuck me_.

The curve of her bottom's perfectly encased in the shorts she's wearing, and honestly, he feels like he could write poetry about her, her eyes, her perfect body, the frigging shape of her earlobes. He has whole anthologies dedicated to her in his head, unfinished songs where he finds all sorts of different ways to write about Hwasa-ssi without ever mentioning her name.

"See.  _That_  expression? That's the one I'm talking about."

The smug smile on Yoongi's mouth falls off when Namjoon punches him in the arm—hard. As long as he has to suffer, yearning for a woman who'd never give him the time of day, he might as well make someone else suffer with him.

They don't call him the God of Destruction for nothing.

**II.**

They haven't done a music show in ages, just over a year. It feels odd to be doing it now. It's not even something they necessarily need—sales are great, the new single got the all-kill within minutes of release (broke some record or other, probably one they'd set with the last single).

But when management had floated the idea of sticking only to awards show platforms and fan meets, Namjoon had been quick to suggest they do a few music shows.

He'd had a good excuse too. Something about not wanting to kill the brand by acting like they were above things, and also nurturing the good relationships they built in the early years when they were starting out. Pissing off the powers that be at KBS, MBC, SBS and everywhere else would be a bad look for any idol, no matter what level.

So here they are, in the KBS New Wing Open Hall changing room assigned to them, waiting for their turn.

He heard Winner go on a while ago, another group's on, definitely  _nugu_  but very talented. After them  _she_  and her group would go up. He memorised the schedule—not that that's even strange. As leader, he needs to know things like that off-hand.

"Hey, wanna go and watch Mamamoo? They're up next," Tae asks.

"Yeah, sure," Namjoon says with a nonchalant shrug.  _Chill_. Tae doesn't need to know that he'd been planning on sneaking up to the balcony to watch them perform anyway.

He's thankful for the relative dim on the balconies, all the lights focused on the stage. At least if he has a heart attack during this performance, no one will see him frothing at the mouth and dying.

He knows he's being ridiculous. Like some school kid with a crush. But he can't help it. He'd thought maybe the feelings would go away or lessen in intensity over the last few months. They'd been on a world tour, he'd visited countries he only used to dream of visiting, he'd put out his own mini album (it did pretty well, although one reviewer had remarked that they weren't sure whether he "needed some good sex, a hug or a stiff drink to get over the broken hearted feelings bleeding through almost every track").

There shouldn't have been much time to even think about her. And it was true, he hadn't, not with any obsessive constancy.

So what if somehow he'd kept up with Mamamoo's concerts and appearances where possible, and had caught himself watching their performances on YouTube more than once in his idle time? It didn't interfere with his work or his writing. In many cases it helped, even. After all, he had written  _Fire Star_ ,  _Devil in my Ear_ , and  _(I'm)_   _Yours_  about her—not that anyone knew that was the case or who the ' _her'_  he was talking to was. Maybe Yoongi and his little sister who had somehow gotten the truth out of him in a moment of weakness. But that was all.

As soon as their new song starts up, he finds her on the stage. It's a slinky but strong house track with a bit of South Asian influence—which is something he didn't really expect to hear from these four. But he's not exactly surprised. Mamamoo are pretty much known for being able to do any genre.  He muses absently as he lets his eyes move over her with the heat of a lover, and the messy stupid feelings of a man who has re-found something he's dearly missed.

Hwasa's wearing red—he  _loves_  her in red—a dress that skims her mid-thigh. Her hair is a shimmering wave of black down to almost her waist, and she has that look on her face where she's almost daring the audience to try fuck with her so she can show them who's boss. When she spits out a few bars in her trademark drawl, Namjoon tries not to do something lame like swoon. He's not a character in a bad romance novel found at airport kiosks—not that he has ever read any of those.  _Ever_. She's one of the best woman rappers he's heard on record, it's crazy that she doesn't do it more in her group. But then she starts singing, a throaty coo and he remembers that her vocals are just as lethal. When she turns around and bends down, he's torn between screeching in delight like the audience is and leaping down there to cover her with his jacket like a cave man—he settles on a pained groan.

"You okay there, Namu-hyung?"

"I'm fine," he grits. "Just a little bit of indigestion."

"Is indigestion now a synonym for 'Hwasa-ssi'?" Tae asks casually.

And right then he's reminded why it's a bad idea to underestimate Taehyung in any given circumstance. He's a barrel of laughs most of the time and the life of the party, quirkiest guy you'll ever meet. But he's probably one of the smartest people Namjoon knows.

"Maybe," he says simply. He watches the women down below go into the bridge part of the song, their voices soaring out over the audience with an explosive force that makes his spine tingle. They're that good.

"You should talk to her or something."

"Like she'd be interested," Namjoon says. And he's not being falsely modest as he says this. He knows he's not bad looking or anything, he knows a lot of ladies like his dimples and his height, and he can hold a decent conversation. But she's ... different. To add to that, the girls from Mamamoo are well-known for being focused. None of them mess around much with other idols romantically—it's the sort of thing that would've gotten around the gossip mill, one way or another, by now. And Kim Dohoon-nim is notoriously protective of them. Namjoon's even seen their day-to-day manager skulking behind them at shows and events to make sure no one foolish ever dares try to approach. 

"You'll never know if you don't try, hyung."

Namjoon ignores him to watch the last few seconds of the performance that closes with a sassy one-liner from Hwasa, she cocks her hip and winks, and it drives everybody wild. Including him. He claps with the same enthusiasm as the audience, his eyes tracking her as she joins hands with the others and bows, before the lights dim so they can move off-stage for the next act. He only shifts his gaze away when she disappears through a door, blinking as though stepping out of a dream.

"Come, let's go and warm up with the boys, we're up after the next two performances." He slides back into leader mode with ease and with some relief. It's good that just being in the same vicinity as her hasn't rendered him completely useless.

It's just before they step onstage that Tae tells him with dubious smirk on his face: "You'll be happy to know that I've invited a few of the other artists to come hang out at the Hannam later."

"What, why would you do that? Did you discuss with others?" Namjoon isn't particularly put out one way or the other, but they usually collectively agree if they want to entertain at the apartment complex. Especially with security so high, sometimes it's necessary to get name clearance for larger groups of people.

"Yeah," Tae says, and he looks annoyingly smug. "Yoongi even texted Jiho, Jimin's bringing Taemin and Jongin and a few other people who aren't here. It's a summer evening, so we can have some barbecue and just be normal for a bit. Maybe even do some swimming."

Namjoon shrugs. If the rest of the gang is okay with it, he's got no problems. It's nice to hang out with other idols, the only people who really get how crazy this life can be. No fans, no cameras and flashing lights. Just regular people being normal for a night: good beer, some games and food, all of them sharing war stories about their crazy jobs like most twenty year-old professionals probably do. There's rarely any opportunity for that sort of thing given their schedules so he'll take the downtime however it comes at him.

The more he thinks about it, the more he's looking forward to the night.

Just as the producer hails them to come out onto the stage, Tae says in a loud whisper, "She'll be there too, by the way."

And just like that, Namjoon is rendered quite useless as anticipation coils in his gut at the mere thought of having her in his house,  _in his space_ , for even a second.

He makes sure to punch Tae in the arm  _after_ their performance. The little shit knew exactly what he was doing.

*

The party's not too big, thankfully. Only thirty or so people in the living room area, some of them milling out onto the deck to watch the setting sun or grab a plate of food where the barbecue's going. Namjoon stays away from there lest he set someone on fire—there's a reason he's rarely allowed near flammable things.

He doesn't stray too far though, for one simple reason:  _she's out there_. Leaning against the rails of the balcony, tilting her face towards the sun in the midst of an animated conversation with a few other people.

He's never really hung out with Hyejin-ssi in a casual atmosphere like this. So when she walked through the door in her cut up jeans, bright red Chuck's and a loose tan sweater that kept sliding off her shoulder and showed a strip of the soft skin at her torso every now and then, he'd been at a loss for words. To the point where Yoongi had flicked him on the back of the head to get him to stop staring at her like a weirdo and hail out a greeting to her, Wheein and Moon.

When the group of people around her move off to the barbecue, she stays behind, enjoying the sunshine. There's a little smile playing on her lips that makes his own mouth quirk up, and he finds himself taking a step towards her, and then another.

Maybe it's the two beers he's had or the fact that he doesn't feel completely overwhelmed by her and the situation, given they're all in  _his_ house and her hair is caught up in the messiest bun he's ever seen, a look that makes her look sexy but approachably so. Or maybe he's just tired of the Significant Looks Yoongi, Tae and now even Hoseok keep throwing his way. But he grabs a couple of drinks, takes a deep breath and heads out to talk to her.

"Um—hi," he says, trying and failing to not be awkward.

She blinks up at him and he's struck by two things in that moment. Her beautiful eyes, deep whiskey-brown and framed by long lashes, only slightly enhanced with some kind of eyeliner. And how much tinier she is without six inch heels. Her head barely reaches his shoulder, and there's something delicate about her that makes him want to carry her off.

"Ah, hey, Namjoon-oppa." She looks surprised, and glances on either side of her as though she's not sure he's meaning to talk to her. When she finds no one but herself, she sends him a smile. She gives him a short bow and he does the same.

He offers her the beer and she takes it, her fingers brushing against his in a way that makes his whole hand tingle. Again her eyes widen, and she says, "Thank you."

"So... are you having fun?"  _Ugh_ , he sounds like an idiot. He wasn't normally this inept but she makes it hard for him to come up with useful conversation. And she doesn't even know it.

"Yes, thanks. This is a nice place you guys have here." She quirks her brow on the 'nice' and he can tell she's being jokingly sarcastic. The Hannam is one of the most expensive complexes in Seoul so even he knows it's a little bit more than 'nice'.

"I guess, it's  _okay_ ," Namjoon says, casually waving his hand at the place as though it's just some regular dorm with a barely functioning air conditioner and full of bunk beds (much like the first place they'd stayed in when they started).

She bursts out laughing, a bright sensual sound that makes him chuckle too. He feels a small bit of accomplishment for making her smile. The shared joke has made things a little easier.

"Well done on your  _Music Bank_  win today," he says.

She offers him a happy grin. "Thank you—we didn't think we could pull it off with you guys and Winner in the mix, but the moomoos came through for us. Everyone was shocked, too."

"I wasn't," he says, entirely honest. He can't imagine why anyone would vote for BTS or Winner or any other act in a singing competition where Mamamoo's involved.

There's that surprised look on her face again, this time her cheeks are tinted a little pink. A bit of curiosity leaks into her expression. She clears her throat. "I-eh, I like your new song. It's very... how do I say,  _badass_." She uses an American accent to say the English word, and it sounds cute when she does.

"Thanks." It's his turn to blush. He, Yoongi and Jungkook had written the entire song together. It makes something inside him curl up pleasantly to know that she likes it.

They both lean their elbows on the balcony rail, looking out at the complex sprawling out below them, and beyond that, the rolling hills of Seoul's wealthier suburbs, as far as the horizon goes before meeting the sky, which has turned almost neon pink, orange and red as the sun lowers.

The silence between them is oddly comfortable. Probably because the sounds of the party behind them are present but seem far away, as though they're in their own small bubble. A cool breeze flutters through the air, and this close (much closer now that he's noticed it, her elbow's nearly touching his forearm) he can smell the subtle scent she wears, something sweet and floral. It would be weird if he grabbed her hand and brought her wrist up close to breathe it in but he has an idiotic impulse to do so.

"I must return the compliment—your new song, it's really incredible. Kind of unexpected even—."

"Yeah, no one expected us to do dance music. I think everyone's recovering from the shock. Like they expected us to do jazz forever, you know?" she says, clearly peeved and a little amused. And she's pouting. Which shouldn't do strange things to his insides and make him want to lean in and bite at her lips, and yet. Here he is.

"You guys could probably do any genre you put your minds to." Namjoon says, nudging her with his shoulder as though it's a conspiracy between the two of them. Maybe it can be.

"That's what I always say. Great minds...." She smiles with mischief as she tells him so, and he's struck dumb again. He also has the urge to just lean down and kiss that smile, taste it, take it inside of him and keep it there forever. Which sounds creepy but he can't help it. He can't help a lot of things when it comes to her.

"Do you—um—want to go for a movie sometime?" he blurts. It's not the smoothest way to ask for a date. And he's not even sure if she's got a boyfriend or if she'd be even vaguely interested.

Once more there's that strange shock on her face when he asks her. Maybe she's baffled that he even has the guts to try it with her.

"Yes... I mean—sure. That would be...  _nice_." This time there's a breathiness when she says the word, a softness to her smile. She catches his gaze and holds it, long enough that it should be awkward, but instead he thinks there's nothing in the world he'd rather be doing than standing here with her, and drinking every detail of her in like a man who's been dying of thirst. The way the wind ruffles her hair and sends a few locks across her face making his fingers itch to tuck it behind her ears; the way the last embers of the sun make her skin glow; the way she's nibbling on her lower lip and causing everything inside him to heat just from that small act alone. All of it.

A loud crash makes them both jump. Someone's obviously broken something—Namjoon's just relieved it's not him for once. He doesn't tear his eyes away from her though. Instead, he stands up straight and holds out his hand. "But for now, maybe we can go get something from the barbecue, yeah?"

The feeling of her fingers sliding against his, her hand small in his own, is one he never wants to forget.

**III.**

It's 4:38AM on a Sunday, and Namjoon can't sleep. Their connecting flight from L.A. came in a couple hours late, so all of them drove straight to the hotel as soon as they arrived. After breakfast—a few hours from now—they'll be heading to a location somewhere outside Las Vegas to shoot their newest video for their upcoming Japanese comeback.

He feels tired, right down in his bones. The weight of months and months on the road, finding only tiny pockets of time to do some real writing and laying down some tracks, and trying not to go too crazy with the life he's worked hard to achieve crashes down on him all at once.

Now, in the lonely hours of the morning.

All the other guys are asleep in the massive and quite lavish rental house they're all sharing. They have enough money now that they don't need to all crowd into two hotel rooms, three-to-a-bed and a rotating person on the floor or a camping bed. He thinks about waking one of them up, Yoongi or Hoseok. But they are all exhausted—disturbing one of them would be cruel especially when they have to be up and ready to work by 9:00AM.

Even with the relative luxury of this place that is owned by some rich studio executive, there's a sterility that he doesn't like. Everything is too clean, too perfect, and expensive. It isn't a hotel but it feels like one.

And he feels suddenly  _sick_ at the thought. He can't remember the last time he'd slept in a bed he could call his own. Or had a bowl of noodles that didn't taste like plastic or a glass of real beer. Stood outside Ttukseom park, just on the lip of Cheongdam Bridge and listened to the trains go by until the monotonous rhythm calmed him down, the familiar dank smell of the river filling up his nose. Or just been  _any_  place he could call  _home_. His stomach feels like it's burning, and unsettled, somewhere between vomiting all the food he didn't eat on that plane trip and heartburn. He can't breathe right.

Without even thinking it, his fingers move across his phone. Two rings, and she answers.

"Hello?"

Even just the sound of her voice calms him, a little.

"Hyegi?" He says her name, and wonders if she can hear the scratchy desperation in it. Like a drowning man hoping she'll throw him a life jacket of some sort, even if she is halfway across the world.

"Namu? Hi, jagi, how are you? I wasn't expecting to chat to you for a couple of days. Weren't you flying to California or something?"

They set up a system where they aren't allowed to go more than three days without talking to each other on the phone. Of course, sometimes they speak in between that time—he's lost count of the number of times she's left him singing voice messages just to say 'hello' and tell him what she was having for breakfast or some bad joke one of the girls told her. Or how often he would sneak into a toilet to call her just to press an obnoxiously loud kiss into the speaker on his phone and then hang up.

"Las Vegas," he says. "I'm okay." He's not but he doesn't want to worry her. He takes in a deep breath, and exhales through his nose.

"No, you're not." And there's not even a bit of hesitation in her voice as she says it.

He thinks about denying it, maybe lying that he just called to say 'hi' and kissing her through the phone before hanging up. But he can't. So he says, quietly as though it's a secret: "I miss you."

He can hear her exhale on the other end of the line, and then shuffle like she's moving around on her pillow. "I miss you, too," she admits with a little shyness to her. One of the most confident women he's ever met, and it's moments like this, when she's soft with him that he treasures best.

It's funny because they've started getting a little intimate. The last time he was in Seoul, he'd stayed the night at her place and while they hadn't gone all the way—he knows that her neighbour probably wasn't too happy with the two of them and all the noise they made. The long distance has meant they've even done some exploring virtually. It turns out, just the sound of her voice can make his body feel incredible things, and she's got the filthiest mind of anyone he's ever met besides Jungkook—so their conversations have been...  _explosive_ , to say the least. Face-Time has helped with that too.

But being emotionally open with each other hasn't been so easy. The lives they lead have made them necessarily cautious, and maybe even a little distrustful. But they're getting better and better at it.

"You're sure you're gonna make it for the MAMAs right?"

"Yep, we'll be there. We're performing a few songs. Melon too."

"Us, as well."

"Hm, I can't wait." He loves watching her perform. A year ago, it was the only way he could really connect with her. And he'd always been caught between outright thirst and admiration. Now, those feelings are only amplified and he has to try harder not to let it show on his face.

"Ever since you told me about some of the things you think when I perform, maybe you should hide or wear a blindfold. I don't want you to scare the fans."

He chuckles at her joke. "I think that would make it worse because then I would have my imagination. And you don't want to know the things I imagine doing to you sometimes."

She lets out an intrigued sound, half moan, half something else. "Maybe you can save that for when we see each other in person."

"I could probably just show you, then."

"I  _really_  like how you think."

He laughs out loud then, forgetting for a second that he could wake the others up. It just feels good to do it. The tightness in his chest is gone.

He can hear her yawning on the other side of the line, and it reminds him. "I forgot you're in Tokyo this week. You must be getting ready to sleep—I'm sorry for disturbing you," he says sincerely. Just because he was having trouble sleeping it didn't mean he could mess up her rest schedule.

"I don't mind when you disturb me." Her voice is drowsy, and so sweet with it, that he wishes he was with her so he could at least hug her and let her fall asleep in his arms.

"You shouldn't say things like that. Otherwise, you'll never get rid of me."

She giggles, and he can imagine her doing it as her eyes close, and her body curls up into a ball, her favourite sleep position

When he hears her breathing slow through the phone, he shuts his own eyes, and tries to match the sound until it almost feels like they're in the same room.

And when he wakes up hours later, it's some of the best sleep he's had in weeks.

**IV.**

"So, you and Hyukwoo-hyung, huh?"

The look on her face could probably singe the tips of his hair.

"He's a good  _friend_ , as you know very well—when he came over to hang out the last time you were in Seoul."

And of course, Namjoon knows this to be true on an intellectual level but he can't pretend there isn't something that roils in his gut uncomfortably when he sees how nuts people are over this #LoSa business. They're on their second collaboration, their first was a huge hit, and this one is looking to break all sorts of records. And even he can't deny their chemistry just watching them onstage together—as he'd been forced to just minutes before. Hyejin on stage in a leather bustier that had made his eyes almost fall out of their sockets and matching trousers, the two of them exchanging lines like they'd been performing together for years. It was easily one of the best performances at the show this year, he knows.

He's always had a possessive streak. Not pursuing any relationships for so long had possibly made him forget it. But now he's dating one of the most lusted-after women in South Korea, there's a small, stupid part of him that feels a little insecure.

"You did really good tonight," he says.

Hyejin beams from where she's touching up her make-up in front of the mirror. They snuck away from the awards proceedings, she'd already done her performance with the girls and his with the guys isn't going to be for at least another 40 minutes with how slow these things usually go.

"Thanks, baby."

It's ridiculous how his heart skips a little at the endearment. 

"You two looked good together—onstage, I mean."

Hyejin lets out a heavy sigh. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

"Ugh," he says, rubbing at his forehead. "I know, okay—I know it's dumb. It's just. People are really invested in the two of you and I just... I can't help myself. I'm jealous. Okay? I'm jealous and stupid. Mostly jealous—."

"You're jealous?" She puts down the tissue she'd been using to blot and turns to face him. Instead of looking angry, as she has every right to be, she smiles beatifically. And Namjoons struck for the six hundredth time with just how stunning she is. Then she's moving towards him, and something about her reminds him of a panther on the prowl, there's a dangerous glint in her eye, too. He's not sure if he should be scared or not.

When she gets up close, she shoves him back a step or two. When the back of his knees hit the couch, he topples back onto it and she crawls right onto his lap. 

"You know, when I sing that song, when I'm on that stage, lost in the music—I'm not thinking about Loco. Or the audience. Or anything else." She drops a kiss on his chin, nips a little at his Adam's apple. "Especially when I know you're watching? Only thing I think about is how after it's all done, and my make-up is off, and I'm wearing a baggy t-shirt and crazy ponytail, that it's you. You who sees me. Wants me.... And I. Want. You."

She bites at the soft flesh on his neck, tastes his no doubt rapid pulse. And he feels trapped—like a small animal caught in the teeth of a lion. And it's the  _best_ feeling. 

When she pulls away, he whimpers at the loss. The sting of her bite heating up every nerve-ending in his body.

Then with a smile as sweet and tender as anything, she boops his nose and clambers off his lap. "We'll have to finish off that thought later, won't we? You have a performance to get ready for.."

She tosses the words over her shoulder as she checks her lipstick one more time, and heads for the door, behind which the rest of the world waits for them both. Namjoon's not sure if he should feel mad or not. Mostly he wishes they could stay here a while longer, cocooned from all the noise, with the taste of her in his mouth. But when she smirks at the door and calls out, "You coming?" He does.

**V.**

_MAMA Awards, 2019_

 

"You should know the only reason I'm letting you kiss me like this is because we've already performed so I can afford to have you ruin my make-up."

Namjoon chuckles, and then groans as her agile fingers sneak up under his dress shirt to stroke his torso. "And you like kissing me, too. Don't forget."

"Hm, don't get cocky," she says, making a show of being displeased with him that she immediately ruins by leaning up—in her heels it's not as hard—to press her mouth against his, a hot slide of her tongue, which tastes like strawberries, and soon the two of them are lost.

Namjoon usually hates awards shows. But, it turns out, dating a woman who works as hard—if not harder than he does as a musician means they don't get to see each other as often as they want to. So if a tiny cupboard of an office in the Mnet Asian Music Awards venue for this year is the only place they can look at each other the way they want to, touch each other, just  _be_  together, then so be it.

In the nine months since they finally managed to watch that movie—a Sunday matinee of a film he can't even remember the name of since he spent most of it being hyper-aware of the woman sitting next to him—they've only managed to properly hang out with each other in person fifteen or so times. He's been on tour, and so has she; they've both had band comebacks, and she's been doing some solo work while he's been writing for his next mixtape. Life just never stops, not in their line of work.

They've made up for it with messaging, and video calls, face-timing for hours. Once, he'd even just watched her cooking in her apartment while he was coming off the high of a show in Mexico City. He'd fallen asleep to the sound of her frying salted fish and rice, and singing a song she was working on, and he'd dreamed of cuddling close to her in bed while her smoky voice floated over him like a caress.

It's not enough, and yet it has to be.

So moments like this—when he gets to slip away from a room teeming with screaming fans and other artists, crowd her against a desk, grasp her thighs and put her on top of it, trace the shape of her hips while he nibbles on the spot on her clavicle that makes her sigh, then fall to his knees to press a soft kiss against her inner thigh right above the garters she's wearing to keep her stockings up, and then her sweet, sweet pussy—are a gift.

The sounds she makes when his tongue swirls against her clit, pitched whimpers and husky moans, his name  _over and over and over_ , always make him hard. And when she yanks at the longer hair on the crown of his head, digs the sharp heels of her strappy sandals into his lower back to urge him on, he smiles.

Later, she flips things over and he's the one sprawled on the desk, at her mercy. He thrusts into her hands, one wrapped around his length while the other dabbles with his balls, and he's the one keening for her as a wolf does at the moon. Except she's not remote or forever withheld from him. She's warm and vital in his arms, her teeth sinking into the sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder, leaving a mark that he'll feel under his formal clothes for the rest of the night. He's leaking pre-cum all over her fingers, and she uses it to make the slide that much better, tightening her grip just  _right_ that he feels his dick get impossibly hard, ready to explode any moment.

"Come for me," she whispers, her breath hot against his ear.

And as though she flicked a switch somewhere inside him that his body can't help but obey—he does.

Much later, when he and the boys close up the show, he imagines her watching him and it makes him dance better, rap harder, fly higher than he ever has onstage.

**VI.**

"So, which one of you has a special somebody in your life right now?"

Namjoon's forgotten how much he hates interviews—especially with Western outlets that tend to ask the dumbest questions imaginable. When he's not interpreting for the guys, he's taken to using the time to gaze soulfully into the distance, giving the impression of deep thinking when really he's imagining what he's going to order for supper.

So he's unprepared for when the blond woman with the very-white-teeth throws this one out, and all his group members point at him.

"What?"

" _Oh_ ," the interviewer says in a loud, high-pitched voice. "Who's the lucky lady, RM? I'm sure your fans are dying to know! Is she famous too, or just a regular girl?"

"Ah..." he mumbles with a frown. He should just say, 'there's no one.' But that would be a lie. And a part of him, a very urgent loud part of him wants to tell the truth. To  _shout_ the truth, have everyone know that he's fallen in love and it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. So he settles on: "Ah, I can't really tell you her name. But, um, yeah."

He can feel the eyes of their managers on him, and he has a feeling he's in for a mighty lecture after this one.

Before the interviewer can grill him for more information, Tae starts talking about his dream girl, very loudly and insistently to the point that the other boys join in. It works to divert attention, and Namjoon sinks back into his chair with a quiet sigh.

A sense of worry curdles in his gut. They haven't discussed this yet—what it would mean to go public with their relationship. He doesn't want to hide it but there are other factors to consider. Plus he's seen what a very high profile 'romance' does to the relationship itself. Privacy has protected them in a lot of ways. What would happen if they let the whole world in on it? They'd be fodder for gossip blogs and magazines, his fans might hate on her, her fans on him, their management teams would try to steer things and it would start feeling like there were a million other people in a relationship meant for two.

He doesn't want that.

But, a part of him wants to be able to hold her hand on the street, to sit next to her at awards shows without pretending they barely know each other, to dedicate every song he's written to her without having to hide it in stupid code, to post the pictures he's taken of her on his Instagram—well, at least a couple of them, because some of those pictures aren't suited for any eyes but his own.

He'll have to ask Hyejin what she thinks. A prospect that frightens him as much as it excites him.

*

_**ALLKPOP: BTS' RM breaks fangirl hearts worldwide!** _

_**DISPATCH: Who is BTS' RM dating: Nayeon, Tzuyu, Irene or Krystal, here's a slideshow of the SUPER hotties he's had his eye on over the years!** _

_**BILLBOARD: RM is officially OFF the market – we take a look at nine of his best music video moments** _

_**KOREABOO: RM is engaged to MYSTERY WOMAN! Married by the end of the year!** _

 

The headlines are all embarrassing, and nonsensical.

So when he gets the message,  _Congrats, had no idea you were getting married to 3 girls from twice and at least 1 red velvet unnie XD!_

He has to laugh out loud.

_If I'm getting married, the only woman I want is you._

She doesn't respond for several minutes and he worries that perhaps he's gone too far. They haven't even been together a year yet. It is still early days. But he feels like he knows she's it for him already.

_...are you asking?_

And that makes him a little nervous in spite of his certainty.

_Maybe...?_

He cringes. She's going to dump him, he already can feel it. He sounds like a needy, clingy dude and there's no way she'd find that attractive. When his phone pings again, he almost doesn't want to open the message. Maybe he can just throw this phone away. Flush it in the toilet, and change his number, and go into hiding for the next few months.

He opens the message, and reads.

_Ask me in a few years, and we'll see <3_

The fears building inside him dissipate in an instant.

And so he types:

_I will._

When she types, 사랑, he answers back in text and out loud, "I love you, too."


End file.
